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Crowley did not like mirrors.
It wasn’t some natural demonic stroke of fear or dislike, even though in the eyes of humans that would have been a perfectly acceptable explanation - he had a very different reason for banishing all mirrors from his home.
Crowley preferred not to have to look at himself.
Yes, it was mostly the eyes. The tattoo was easy not to see, and to be frank, he quite liked it on better days. The eyes, however, were impossible not to acknowledge; not to hate. Even when he had the sunglasses on while looking into a mirror, he knew it was there. The abomination, the memento of what he’d become.
Every time he looked into his own, yellow, snakelike eyes in a mirror, he remembered fresh green, light sparks and white feathers. The angel he used to be, before…
Before.
Before he’d asked too many questions. Before he’d started seeing Lucifer’s appeal. Before the darkness and the pain. Before the apple tree. Before he became Crawley, Crowley; the demon he was today.
Before Aziraphale - a quiet voice murmured in his ear.
Yes, he hadn’t exactly known Aziraphale before he fell. He sometimes wondered if the angel truly understood that Crowley hadn’t always been a demon, that at one point in time, thousands of years ago, before that day on the walls of the Garden, he used to be an angel.
And not just an angel, Crowley thought as he raked through his hair with his fingers, ginger hair slowly lengthening and turning an even brighter red, more reminiscent of what it used to be like. He was in the big leagues. Head office, one the highest ranking angels, bright hopes. Bright, that’s what he used to be. Shining, like the others. Not quite like Lucifer - he’d always been different somehow, and after the fall, he didn’t lose that glow, but it became unbearable to look at. He was more somewhat like Michael, or Uriel, both still carrying a tingle of the heavenly light. Except he’d lost it, all of it. There was no glow left, he was dark and cold now, the only heat left within him the twisted remains of the holy flame turned into infernal fire.
He stared at himself another moment. Changing his corporeal body wasn’t easy per say; he mostly just had the strength to change between the snake and this body. For a moment, he focused immensely - and there, for a second, was the slightest glimmer of green.
Then it was gone and he was Crowley again: short, dark red hair, a demonic sneer and yellow eyes with a slit of a pupil.
He growled and grabbed his sunglasses, then shattered the mirror on his way out.
***
Crowley, as a demon tended to be, was not nice. It was part of the job description. He had to be evil, bring humans to temptation, corrupt and break them, etcetera, etcetera.
All fine and dandy, but Crowley - unlike most of the Fallen - sometimes had a hard time doing all of that because he also had a crucial divine mission that he just couldn’t abandon, not even after the Fall.
It wasn’t just mission to him. He believed in it. And because he had only ever believed in a handful of things - his angelic mission, Aziraphale, the indifference of the Almighty,the power of human stupidity, Aziraphale, putting the fear of Crowley into his plants as motivation, his superiority over other demons, Aziraphale -, it was important.
So when Crowley saw a sick child, healing being his mission and children his soft spot, he couldn’t not help. It was not easy to explain to hell’s head office, and he was glad he wasn’t questioned every single time he did this, because after a while, his excuses would’ve started sounding as fake as they were.
“He will grow up believing in the occult and will be easy to tempt into satanist circles.”
“She must grow older to fall for the sins of the flesh.”
“If they die this young, we’ll never have them, they’ll surely go to heaven.”
He loathed widespread plagues. So much sickness and so little he could do. He couldn’t even bring himself to pretend they were ever something of his device and instead just tried to sleep and drink through as much of them as he could.
Aziraphale never seemed to notice that Crowley was healing so many sick children. Crowley, of course, never called his attention to it - he was used to his angel not noticing things, and this was just one on the long, long list of deeds Aziraphale just never seemed to see.
(Sometimes, just sometimes, Crowley wished Aziraphale would notice, call him out on it, if only for him to deny it or pretend to be outraged that the angel would ever think he was doing something good, because it would mean that Aziraphale knew.)
When it came to the Antichrist, Crowley instantly knew the easy solution. Kill the kid, maybe drive recklessly enough to crash and discorporate himself as well, or just suffocate the little bastard on the backseat instead of delivering him to the nuns - it would’ve solved all of their problems. Boom. Apocalypse avoided. Make up some excuse to get himself out of trouble for it. But to kill a baby? No, Crowley never could’ve brought himself to do that. He preferred solutions other than murder in general, but when it came to kids, he simply couldn’t. He was rather certain that even Aziraphale would do it sooner than him - provided someone assured him it was all part of the Plan.
So because Crowley was soft, and maybe just a touch too much of an angel still, the Apocalypse almost happened. To his credit, Aziraphale couldn’t actually kill Adam either.
***
Every now and then Crowley wondered if all the good he’d been doing throughout the last six thousand years was being added up somewhere towards a reset counter - that if he kept creating minor annoyances to write up as “demonic deeds” and kept doing as much good as he could get away with, maybe one day he’d wake up with wings white as snow, sparks of red-white flame around him and fresh green eyes looking back from the mirror.
***
Crowley knew he was unforgivable. It was the definition. And even if he could’ve been forgiven, he wasn’t sure he would be able to forgive himself and go back to being a full-time angel.
***
“My dear”, Aziraphale called him often. It made him feel soft and warm inside, almost like…
He had many reasons to love the angel. His stupid obsession with human books, his insatiable hunger for new tastes, that damned bowtie. Bright, blue eyes and a warm, helpless smile, a glow of heavenly grace that hasn’t left him all these centuries, the inherent Good in his heart that most angels seemed to have lost by now - yes, Crowley had many reasons to love Aziraphale.
But something he loved about him more than anything was the mere fact that Aziraphale could love him. What kind of love it was, well, that didn't matter (he kept telling himself) and Crowley had decided not to ask. He figured the angel did actually see something in him, something he’s never acknowledged to Crowley face-to-face, because despite everything, there was an infinite, gentle love surrounding him whenever he was near Crowley. He hadn’t felt love of this kind - or really, any kind - since before , and he’s only ever got it from Aziraphale.
He clang to it, tooth and nail. Not only because he just loved Aziraphale for who the angel was, but also because this pure, heavenly love felt like he got at least a tiny bit of his own grace back. There were moments, rare and in-between, when Aziraphale’s love filled him so fully that he forgot he was Fallen; moments when he felt like he was back before, back in heaven, back with all that glow and warmth and love.
He had little need of all the other angels - Aziraphale could love him enough for all of them.
***
Six thousand years of companionship, six thousand years since the Fall, six thousand years on Earth with only him and the humans and this is the way the angel brings it up, on such an absolutely ordinary evening of alcoholic indulgence.
“Oh my dear, we’ve never actually talked about it, have we?”
Crowley doesn’t even understand what Aziraphale is referring to. There are a lot of things they’ve never actually talked about, it is one of their grand flaws. The lack of talking.
“I’m not sure what you mean, angel” he says simply. Aziraphale looks rather uncomfortable, which seems enough of a reason to sober up and have whatever this conversation is clear-headed. As the alcohol leaves him and he regains the miraculous skill of perception, he realizes that Aziraphale is not drunk actually - not anymore, probably - and that he looks rather uncomfortable.
“Well it is a rather sensitive topic… and of course I wouldn’t want to pressure you into-”
“Spit it out, angel” Crowley growls, knowing that if left to Aziraphale, they are likely to never actually have this conversation, or only have it in another six thousand years.
“I was wondering… just how much you might remember from… before ” Aziraphale stutters. Crowley can feel his expression darkening and the angel hurries to continue. “By before, of course, I mean the war, the one between… us, and you. Our… sides. Not that- we’ve talked about this obviously, we are on our own side now , but back then-”
“There were no sides back then, or at least I wasn’t aware” Crowley interrupts. “Like I keep saying, I didn’t fall. I just-”
“Sauntered vaguely downwards, yes, you’ve said so before, but my dear, surely you had some idea-”
“I did not.”
Aziraphale is quiet for a few moments.
“Absolutely nothing?”
Crowley is silent. It’s not true, he wasn’t completely clueless of course. None of the Fallen were, they had all made a series of decisions that led to them falling. He doesn’t actually want to have this conversation, he realizes, but he also knows it’s too late to back out of it. Without offending Aziraphale of course, and he can’t have that.
“Not… nothing. Very little, but not nothing” Crowley admits unwillingly. Aziraphale looks at him with the Eyes and he knows he has little choice but to say more now - except he doesn’t want to, because… well, just because.
“I was… curious. You know what I’m like” he gestures vaguely. The angel nods, and it helps - Aziraphale does know him, there is so much that needs no explanation about how he ended up falling, because he was really just being himself. “I kept asking questions, questions I shouldn’t have been asking. Why are the hairless apes more important than the other beasts on this little planet? What did we receive corporeal forms for? Why do we have to look over the apes when there are so many other things in the Garden to see? Why can’t the humans just eat the apples? Why are Her plans ineffable? Why won’t she talk to us anymore?” Crowley stops and heaves a deep sigh. Aziraphale is clearly doing his best to hide his outrage, but this is exactly Crowley’s point.
“Most of the other angels agreed with you. You shouldn’t be asking these questions, brother, they would say. But there were others…”
Crowley suddenly realizes he’s done talking. He can’t actually recount the fall. Oh, he remembers , very keenly, but he’s not capable of putting it into words, especially not to Aziraphale; Aziraphale who has always had a hard time letting go of the faith that heaven and angels and the Almighty are inherently Good and even in punishment would not cause true harm. This belief was of course put to the test very recently, and luckily Aziraphale realized that neither heaven nor hell would let their interference slide, but that was still in a way about the current state of heaven, not how it used to be.
“I infer you mean… Lucifer?” Aziraphale asks carefully. Crowley nods. It wasn’t just Lucifer of course, but they had been close and Lucifer had been so understanding and charming before the fighting actually started. It had been so simple to just…
“How horrible” the angel sighs. “He truly is a master of deception.”
Crowley turns his head to stare at a pile of books to the side and realizes he’s smiling bitterly.
“He didn’t need much deception. Most of us were already halfway there. It wasn’t really his fault… not his fault alone, at least.”
“Well who would you blame then, my dear?” Aziraphale asks with confusion. Crowley laughs coldly.
“I’m sure you can figure out who I’m blaming other than Lucifer, but I’d rather not say it. Although I don’t see how She could punish me more than she already has.”
Aziraphale gasps and Crowley shakes his head. His point exactly.
“B-but Crowley!” He cannot hide his outrage now, for the insinuation is just too much. Still, he regains control after a short while and settles for a well-known disapproving tone. “You shouldn’t imply such things.”
“I’m not implying anything, angel” Crowley waves, hoping that this concludes the whole Fall topic. He’s not a fan.
There is actually a long silence in which Crowley takes hold of his wineglass once more, wanting to forget about this conversation as quickly as possible. However it soon turns out that Aziraphale is not actually finished quite just yet.
“You didn’t exactly answer my question my dear friend” he reminds Crowley. “I was wondering what you remember, not how you fell, although that, of course, would be part of what you can recall.”
Crowley huffs. He wonders if there is a way to shut the angel up without being rude. Like, actually rude, not his normal let’s-both-pretend-I’m-being-really-offensive-even-though-I’m-not rude. Aziraphale smiles.
“I know you don’t like to talk about this. We don’t have to, if you’re really so against it” he says quietly, reaching for the wine.
This time, Crowley straight up growls. Yes, of course the angel would think that’s a proper, non-aggressive way to end this conversation, even though it’s really not, and now he feels even more like he has no choice in whether they talk about it or not. He briefly wonders if Aziraphale is aware how manipulative a bastard he is, or if it just comes to him naturally.
“Fine” he spats, hopping to his feet. He starts pacing and the words start flowing, and he even forgets to pretend to breath and he’s happy he doesn’t have to so he can just get it all out in one go.
“I remember some things. Stupid things, like how warm it felt and how everyone used to love each other before the Fallen messed it all up. I remember how She used to sound, how She used to talk to us before She gave Her last orders and grew quiet. I remember helping hang the stars, decorating the universe with swirls of colours and blazing fire. I remember watching as She created the Earth and these stupid, stupid humans, and I remember Her telling me that above everyone else, I was responsible for keeping them alive. I remember thinking - well, I could do more than that, I could help them really live; after all, all they were doing was sleep, eat and procreate. There were other things in the big bright world She created around them, and I wanted them to see more of it. I remember that I used to have white wings and green eyes and I remember how pure the fire inside and around me felt before it got all twisted. I remember how I never fit in, the first disagreements, the first arguments between me and the others, Lucifer distancing himself and creating his own following, I remember asking questions the others wouldn’t, I remember thinking that maybe Lucifer and the guys would understand why I was asking even though they didn’t and I remember-”
He gasps, stops, closes his eyes.
“...the punishment” he whispers. Suddenly, all the fight goes out of him, and he plops down to the ground in the middle of the room. He wishes he had his glasses on. He wishes he had a filter in front of Aziraphale. He wishes he could sometimes, just sometimes say no to his angel. He wishes he said less, he wishes he said more. But he said whatever he said and now there is nothing left but sit and wait for the angel’s reaction.
A few silent moments pass, and Crowley is completely lost inside his own head; but the next thing he’s aware of is a gentle hand on his shoulder and then Aziraphale’s blue, blue eyes.
“Crowley” he whispers, almost reverently, almost as if he wanted to say something else, almost like forgiveness, and he can’t contain it any longer; there are tears he’s been meaning to cry for over six thousand years, and as the first one drops, his angel’s hands are around him, his scent encompassing him, his love so transparent and so strong he feels as if he was crying about a long gone nightmare and all that was awaiting him on the other side was love and safety and the rising sun.
And then he looks at Aziraphale and the complete love and acceptance in his eyes fills him with warmth almost like Hers used to be and he can’t contain it any longer so he just kisses him. It’s wet and salty and he feels completely exhausted, an utter mess, and yet it’s the most wonderful feeling he’s ever experienced and Aziraphale kisses back without a second's hesitation. After six thousand years of pushing and pulling and hoping and hopelessness finally they’re here.
***
They sit in silence for a long time after that, safely in each other’s arms, eyes fluttering open and closed, basking in the warm glow of love in their hearts. As the first curious rays of the sun poke their heads into the shop, Crowley feels refreshed as if he’s slept for yet another century and disentangles himself from the angel’s hug.
He stands up, stretching his long arms and long legs, and glances at Aziraphale doing the same. Now that he’s rested, he wonders how much the angel actually found out from his words and what he really thinks of them. He can’t help but worry a bit if this - whatever this was - could be expected to last, but he quickly hushes the thought. They’d have to wait and see.
“Aziraphale?” he asks, voice hoarse from the long silence they fell into.
“Yes, my dear?”
He can’t help but smile. He wonders if Aziraphale has always meant the little nickname just as affectionately as he's always meant ‘angel’.
“Is there… did I answer your questions last night?” he looks away bashfully and his cheeks heat up a bit despite his best effort.
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry if it hurt you at all - it was not my intention” Aziraphale smiles sadly, reaching out to rest his hand on Crowley’s arm. He can’t help but smile himself.
“I know, angel, don’t worry.”
A few more silent minutes; the demon walks around, grabs his glasses, slipping them into a pocket - somehow, after the intimacy of last night it feels utterly inappropriate to put them on when it’s just the two of them, even though he wears the damn thing to take his own mind off the way his eyes look -, and starts wrestling with his jacket.
“One question though, if I may” Aziraphale chirps up and Crowley has to physically resist rolling his eyes. He knew it wasn’t over yet. And he was the one who got banished from heaven for curiosity!
“You may” he waves, relaxed as he can, hoping that whatever the question it won’t be too heavy.
“Your name… you weren’t always… well of course, you weren’t always Crowley, but you weren’t always Crawley, either” he prods. Crowley sighs. He thought he was rather obvious about who he used to be. Maybe Aziraphale knew less of other angels than he imagined.
“Really?” he asks, unwilling to say the name himself. He hasn’t even dared think of it since he fell, and he isn’t even sure he can say it. “I didn’t realize I was being so enigmatic.”
“Well…” Aziraphale hesitates and then gives him a tight smile. “I would’ve quite preferred if you didn’t make me guess it” he says. Crowley laughs and gives him a gesture that’s meant to signal something like ‘go ahead’ or ‘I’m curious what you came up with’. Aziraphale smiles again.
“Please don’t make fun of me if I happen to be wrong” he requests. “I think…. I think you used to be… or, rather, your name used to be… Raphael.”
His name. His real, angelic name from oh so long ago - and never mind that, his real, angelic name from the lips of Aziraphale. He feels like he might collapse under all of it. He can’t speak so he just nods. He can see the wonder in the angel’s eyes, and he’s not sure he likes it. Wonder, upon looking at him? Great. Grand. Glorious! Wonder, upon looking at him because he used to be an archangel? Not great. Not grand. Not glorious! Pretty g… g… gbad.
“I was. But I’m… me now. Not an archangel, just… just a demon” he says, looking away. Aziraphale is by his side in an instant, arms coming around Crowley’s waist.
“You’re much more than ‘just a demon’, my dear. But not to worry, I don’t want you any different than you are, right this moment. It’s- you are all I want” he reassures him, and Crowley hugs him back, tries to pull him so close they become one like he sometimes suspects they once were before they came to consciousness, and hopes he’ll never have to let go. He nuzzles the angel’s neck, and Aziraphale giggles, and it’s the sweetest sound Crowley has heard in years - since the last time he’s heard Aziraphale giggle - and somehow he knows that from now on, no matter what happens, no matter if he stays a demon for the rest of eternity, no matter if heaven and hell collapse and the entire world crashes and burns, he’ll always be enough for the only one whose approval means anything to him.
“I have to say though” he mumbles, satisfied, hiding a smile against Aziraphale’s soft skin, “I like the way it sounds when you say it.”